“I’m worried about you.”

“I appreciate that, Marcus, more than you know.” Nicole reached tentatively for his hand, willing him to understand what she couldn’t seem to come right out and say. “Soon things will be different. My brother and I will move away from my father and be free to go where we want…see who we want.”

Marcus opened his mouth as if to argue, then he blinked. The next thing she knew, he was jumping out of the car.

“Say hello to Beau for me,” Marcus prattled cheerfully, striding away.

Nicole blew out a short breath. What was that about? Had the mere suggestion that she’d like to date him sent him running for the hills?

At first, Nicole was disheartened, then realized there was plenty of time to change his mind. She was sure Marcus cared, and maybe one day he would get used to the idea….

ARLENE JAMES

says, “Camp meetings, mission work and the church where my parents and grandparents were prominent members permeate my Oklahoma childhood memories. It was a golden time, which sustains me yet. However, only as a young, widowed mother did I truly begin growing in my personal relationship with the Lord. Through adversity, He blessed me in countless ways, one of which is a second marriage so loving and romantic, it still feels like courtship!”

The author of over sixty novels, Arlene James now resides outside of Dallas, Texas, with her husband. Arlene says, “The rewards of motherhood have indeed been extraordinary for me. Yet I’ve looked forward to this new stage of my life.” Her need to write is greater than ever, a fact that frankly amazes her, as she’s been at it since the eighth grade!

A Love So Strong
Arlene James

And this I pray,

that your love may abound still more and more

in real knowledge and all discernment.

—Philippians 1:9

For Lauren, because granddaughters

are one of God’s greatest blessings,

and Granna loves you very, very much.

Contents

Chapter One

Chapter Two

Chapter Three

Chapter Four

Chapter Five

Chapter Six

Chapter Seven

Chapter Eight

Chapter Nine

Chapter Ten

Chapter Eleven

Chapter Twelve

Chapter Thirteen

Chapter Fourteen

Chapter Fifteen

Letter to Reader

Questions for Discussion

Chapter One

“Happy birthday! Happy birthday, Marcus!”

Marcus Wheeler lifted his hands and addressed the two dozen or so assembled guests.

“You shouldn’t have gone to so much trouble. The church already gave me a nice monetary gift. A man blessed with that and a family such as this can’t ask for more.” He grinned, then added, “But I’m mighty appreciative, all the same.”

“Good grief, man. We have six sisters between us,” Vince, husband of Marcus’s sister Jolie and scion of the boisterous Cutler clan, stated ruefully. “Did you really think your two sisters and my four would let your birthday slip by without a family celebration?”

Everyone laughed, and the rippling sound warmed Marcus to the very center of his soul. Not so long ago he’d been struggling to hold on to some semblance of his fractured family, and now, thanks to his two younger sisters—especially Jolie, the eldest of them—he had more family than he could keep track of.

“So far as I can tell,” drawled Kendal Oakes, husband of Marcus’s youngest sister, Connie, “the Cutlers don’t let any excuse to celebrate get past them.”

This elicited more laughter and a general chorus of “Amen, brother!”

An only child himself, Kendal confessed to Marcus that he still didn’t seem to know what to make of the loving horde who were the Cutlers, but after almost a year as a member of the clan, he was more at ease. Even his daughter, Larissa, who would be three in a couple months and was often overwhelmed by too much stimulation, had relaxed into the midst of what had proven to be a loving, sheltering family.

It was also a growing family, with Jolie and Vince expecting their first child in late June. Marcus knew that Jolie would be as wonderful a mother to her own child as she had been to her nephew, Russell, Connie’s thirty-month-old son, in his first year when Connie couldn’t take care of him.

“Can’t have too much celebration,” Connie murmured, smoothing Russell’s bright red hair as he leaned against her leg, eagerly awaiting his piece of the birthday cake.

Marcus couldn’t have agreed with her more. So much had changed in the past two years.

Connie had gotten out of prison and had since been exonerated of having taken any knowing part in the armed robbery and subsequent murder perpetrated by Russell’s biological father. The split that had occurred in the family when Connie had reclaimed Russell from Jolie’s care had been mended, thanks to Vince Cutler, who had married Jolie last Valentine’s Day, almost a year ago now. Most amazing of all, Connie and Kendal had found each other, and what had begun as a marriage of convenience had joined two broken homes into one strong, Christ-centered family.

Marcus thanked God daily for the masterful way in which He had mended the bonds shattered by death and separation, and the spotty care of the foster child system in which he and his sisters had grown up. Truly, what else could a man of God possibly ask for?

Looking around the room at no fewer than seven happy couples, Marcus had to admit to himself that it was proving to be surprisingly difficult to be the only unmarried adult member of the family. Here he sat, a single minister in want of a wife, and suddenly thirty felt positively ancient. It seemed ungrateful, even selfish, to keep asking God where his mate was, but he couldn’t help wondering. Marcus closed his eyes and sent a swift, silent prayer heavenward.

Lord, I thank You for all with which You’ve blessed me. I thank You for every person in this room. I even thank You for the room itself! You’ve given Jolie and Vince a lovely home. Connie and Kendal, too, for that matter. And I thank You for my church, Lord. Help me be satisfied with what I already have. That’s my birthday prayer. Amen.

Jolie shoved another box onto his lap.

“Ya’ll, this is just too much,” he insisted, mentally cataloging the stack of dress shirts, ties, bookmarks and religious CDs already littering the floor around his chair.

“Hush up and rip in,” Jolie counseled, dropping a kiss on his forehead as she moved back to her husband’s side on the sofa that occupied one wall of the living room, to which the party had relocated after indulging the children’s demand for cake. “That’s the last one anyway.”

Relieved to hear it, Marcus eagerly tore away the wrapping paper and pried apart the white pasteboard box beneath to reveal a large photo album tastefully bound in brown leather. A cross and the word “Wheeler” had been embossed on the front in gold.

Somewhat warily, Marcus cracked the cover. The front page contained grainy black-and-white photographs of their great-grandparents Edna and Bledsoe Wheeler.

“I remember these!” Marcus exclaimed happily. “But I thought they were lost.”

“Jo had them,” Connie apprised him, obviously pleased.

He turned another page and found a color eight-by-ten of his mother, Velma, as a high school senior. The youngest of two daughters born almost twenty years apart, Velma had been the late child of elderly parents and too quickly left alone in the world. After Marcus’s father died she’d tried to fill the void with one man after another, eventually abandoning her own children in search of a love she’d never truly understood, only to die in an auto accident.

As difficult as it had been to be separated at ten from his younger sisters, Marcus thanked God that he’d landed with a family who had taught him to love the Lord and saved him from repeating his mother’s fate. His sisters hadn’t been blessed in that fashion. But now wasn’t the time for bad memories. Today was his birthday, a time to celebrate. He and his sisters were back together again. That was all that mattered.

He turned the page and saw a small photo of their father, Carl, who had died of heart failure in his thirties, brought on by extensive alcohol and drug abuse. Marcus barely remembered him. Mostly he remembered the loud arguments that had preceded his departure from the household when Connie had still been a baby.

He’d been a nice-looking man, with Connie’s bright, golden blond hair. What a pity that he’d allowed himself to be controlled by his addictions. Still, it was nice to have this reminder of him.

Pictures of Marcus and his sisters as children followed. Most included various members of the foster families with whom they’d resided. Next came a picture of Jolie’s wedding. Marcus smiled at that and then at the photo of Connie and Kendal’s second wedding, which followed. Now that was an interesting story.

Their first ceremony had been a somber affair performed in Kendal’s home. They married because Russell needed a father, and Larissa needed a mother. Only some months later did the two realize that God had brought them together for more than the sake of their children and made their sham marriage a real one with a ceremony in church. It had been Marcus’s distinct privilege to perform all three of his sisters’ ceremonies.

He chuckled at photos of his nephew, Russell, and niece, Larissa. The two had taken to each other like bark on a tree. Soon the cross adoption of each child by the other’s natural parent would be finalized.

The last picture was a puzzle. It looked like an ink blot at first, and then Marcus realized that it more closely resembled a printed negative of an X-ray. He turned the album sideways, trying to get a better look, prompting Vince to lean forward and announce, “That’s your other nephew.”

Jolie patted her slightly rounded belly with a self-satisfied smile. “We made you a print of the sonogram.”

Ovida Cutler, Vince’s mother, launched to her feet. All rounded curves and beaming smile, with fading red hair curling about her face, she was the quintessential grandmother.

“It’s a boy!” she exclaimed, as if she didn’t already have four grandsons.

“And this one will have the Cutler name,” once of Vince’s sisters pointed out.

“Actually,” Jolie said, glowing at Marcus, “we’re thinking that Aaron Lawrence Cutler is a fine name for a son, if you don’t mind us appropriating your middle name, Marcus.”

Marcus glanced at Larry Cutler, Ovida’s husband, who was beaming ear to ear, obviously having no compunction about his given name coming in second to Marcus’s middle one.

“I’d be honored, sis,” he told her in a thick voice.

Fortunately the doorbell rang just then, preventing the whole room from erupting into happy tears.

While Vince hurried out to answer the door, Marcus quickly flipped through the remainder of the pages in the photo album to be certain that they were empty, then yielded to the clamor to pass it around. Within seconds the women were all “oohing” over the sonogram. Marcus himself hadn’t seen anything that actually looked like a baby in the print, but that didn’t lessen his delight in having it. Aaron Lawrence Cutler. Wow.

He wondered if he would ever have a son whom he might want to name after himself.

Vince returned with a girl in tow. Striking, with long hair the color of black coffee falling past her slender shoulders, she wore a somewhat outlandish costume of lime-green leggings, a long, straight denim skirt, a black turtleneck and muffler, a sky-blue fringed poncho and red leather flats. The shoes matched her gloves, which left only her wrists, ankles and heart-shaped face bare to the February chill.

A lime-green headband held back her sleek, dark hair, revealing an intriguing widow’s peak that emphasized her wide, prominent cheekbones and slightly pointed chin. It was an exotic face, with large, round, tip-tilted eyes that gave a feline grace to a small nose and a wide, full, strawberry mouth. What galvanized, Marcus, however, were the shiny tracks of tears that marked her pale cheeks.

Without even thinking about it, he was out of his chair a heartbeat after Jolie’s mother-in-law, Ovida, and was striding across the room, certain that he was needed.

“Nicole Archer!” Ovida exclaimed, opening her arms. “Honey, what’s wrong?”

The newcomer shook her head, eyes flicking self-consciously around the room. If her hair was black coffee, Marcus noted inanely, then those sparkling, soft brown eyes were café au lait. The cream in the coffee would be her skin.

Despite her lithe build, she was not a teenager, he saw upon closer inspection, but not far past it. He liked the fact that she wore no cosmetics, her skin appearing freshly scrubbed and utterly flawless.

A number of private conversations immediately began, their intent patently obvious. Marcus felt a spurt of gratitude for any effort to put this obviously troubled young lady at ease.

“I’m sorry to bother you,” she said in a soft, warbling voice as Ovida’s round arms encircled her slender shoulders.

“Nonsense. Suzanne’s daughter could never be a bother to me.” Ovida pulled back slightly and asked, “Now, what’s he done?”

Those coffee-with-cream eyes again flickered with uncertainty. Sensing her discomfiture, Marcus stepped up and pointed an arm toward the door beyond the formal dining area as if he had every right to offer this young woman the use of the house.

“It’s quiet in the kitchen,” he suggested.

Ovida looked up at that, her worried gaze easing somewhat. She patted his cheek with one plump hand.

“I don’t want to impose,” Nicole protested softly, sniffing and ducking her head.

“No problem,” Marcus assured her as Ovida turned the girl toward the door and gently but firmly urged her forward.

A couple of Ovida’s daughters rose to follow, but Marcus lifted a proprietary hand. They would, of course, want to help, but ministry had some privileges, and he found himself compelled to exercise them for once. Both instantly subsided, and he nodded in gratitude before swiftly following Ovida and her guest.

He caught up with and passed them in time to push back the swinging door on its silent hinges. As she passed through into the kitchen, Nicole looked up and whispered her thanks.

“You’re welcome,” Marcus murmured, unashamedly following the pair into the brick-and-oak kitchen and letting the door swing closed behind him.

Ovida parked Nicole at the wrought-iron table in the breakfast nook. “Can I get you something to drink, honey?”

Nicole glanced at the half-empty coffeepot on the counter. Marcus had noticed that wherever Ovida and Larry Cutler were, the coffeepot was kept in service. It seemed fitting that this girl, for she was little more than that, surely, should show a preference for the dark beverage.

Without being asked, he turned to the cabinet and took down a stoneware coffee mug. Then he filled it with strong, black coffee and carried it to the table, placing it gently in front of this dark-haired beauty. She was beautiful, he realized with a jolt. But very young.

“There’s cream and sugar, if you like.”

Smiling wanly, she shook her head, tugged off her worn red leather gloves and wrapped a slender hand around the mug.

“Thank you. Again.”

“You’re welcome. Again.”

As she sipped, he pulled out a chair for Ovida and nodded her down into it.

“Now tell me, honey,” Ovida urged, “what’s wrong?”

Nicole glanced quickly at Marcus before dropping both hands into her lap in a gesture that bespoke both helplessness and frustration. Marcus pulled out another chair and sat, bracing his forearms against the glass tabletop.

“Forgive me if I’m intruding where I’m not wanted, but if there’s a problem, I’d like to help. My name is Marcus Wheeler, by the way.”

“Nicole Archer.”

He smiled to put her at ease. “It’s nice to meet you, Nicole. I take it that you know my sister Jolie.”

Nicole shook her head. “I know she’s married to Vince, that this is their house.”

“If you know the Cutlers, then you must realize that, through Jolie, I’m part of the family now. You probably don’t know that I’m also a minister.”

Her slender, dark brows rose into pronounced arches.

“Really? You seem too…young.”

Marcus chuckled. “That’s good to hear today of all days.” He leaned closer and confessed in a conspiratorial tone. “Today’s my birthday. My twenties are now officially behind me.”

“Happy birthday.” Wrinkling her button of a nose, she added, “I didn’t mean to crash the party.”

“No problem.” He folded his hands. “I’d like to help, if you’ll allow it.”

She sighed, braced an elbow against the tabletop, turned up her palm and dropped her forehead into it.

“There’s nothing you can do. There’s nothing anyone can do.” Straightening, she shook her head. “I don’t even know why I bothered to come here. It’s just that…” She looked at Ovida, and fresh tears clouded her eyes. “You said this was where you’d be if I needed you.”

Ovida reached across the table to squeeze her hand. “You did exactly right. Now, then, what’s Dillard done this time?”

“Same old, same old,” came the muttered answer.

“That man!” Ovida snapped. “Did he hurt you?”

Marcus stiffened as alarm and something he didn’t normally feel, anger, flashed through him.

“Who is Dillard?”

“Nicole’s father,” Ovida divulged. “Dillard Archer’s been mad at the world and living in a bottle ever since his wife died more than three years ago.”

“He was never like this when Mom was alive,” Nicole said, shaking her head. “He’d lose his temper once in a while, even put his fist through a wall a time or two, but now…” She bit her lip.

Marcus reached for the sheltering mantle of his professional detachment. For some reason that seemed more difficult than usual, but he managed, asking gently, “Is he abusive?”

Nicole bowed her head and whispered, “The worst part is the things he says sometimes, especially to my little brother.”

“What’s your brother’s name?”

“Beau. He turned thirteen at the end of November.”

An emotional age, as Marcus remembered all too well. The next question was, to him, all important.

“Has your father ever hit either one of you, Nicole?”

She sucked in a deep breath, her stillness indicating that she was deciding what to tell him.

“Not really. He’s shoved us around a little, Beau mostly. I’m afraid my little brother hasn’t learned when it’s best to keep quiet.”

Ovida shared a grim look with Marcus, saying, “Your poor mother’s heart would break if she wasn’t beyond such emotion, thank the good Lord.”

“I just don’t know what to do with him anymore,” Nicole admitted tearfully. “I know he misses Mom, but we all do.”

“Of course we do,” Ovida crooned. “For her I’m happy, though. No more illness or pain. Just the peace and joy of heaven.”

Nicole nodded, sniffing. “I believe that, but Dad doesn’t.”

Marcus sighed inwardly, unsurprised to hear that Dillard Archer was not a believer.

“Have you considered calling the authorities?”

Nicole shook her head, blurting, “I don’t want him to go to jail!”

“It might be the only way to get him the help he needs.”

“But what would happen to my little brother?”

Marcus knew the probable answer to that, but he needed more information to make an informed guess.

“How old are you?”

“Twenty.”

So young, Marcus thought, to be shouldering such responsibility.

“Do you work?”

“Part-time. School doesn’t leave a lot of time for work.”

“You’re in college then?”

“UTA.”

He’d attended the University of Texas at Arlington himself, before seminary.

“Studying what, may I ask?”

“Early childhood education.”

He smiled at that and heard himself saying, “We have a day care center at our church.”

“Oh? I’d like to work in day care again, but waiting tables pays better, especially for part-time.” She looked down at her hands, mumbling, “Dad’s on disability because of his back, and that really doesn’t go very far. If we hadn’t used Mom’s life insurance to pay off the house, I don’t know how we’d make it.”

“His drinking can’t help any,” Marcus pointed out gently, “and he isn’t likely to quit on his own.”

“Look,” Nicole said firmly, “I promised my mom.” Her beautiful brown eyes implored Marcus to understand. “I promised that I’d take care of them, Beau and Dad. Mom wouldn’t want me to turn him in to the police.”

“Nicole, your mother never imagined that your dad would fall apart like this,” Ovida pointed out. “She wouldn’t want you to risk yours or your brother’s safety.”

“It’s not that bad,” Nicole insisted. “It’s just that I never know what’s going to set him off, and he can say some really ugly things. I shouldn’t let them bother me. I know it’s the alcohol talking, but…” She sighed intensely.

“Don’t make excuses for him, honey,” Ovida advised, “and don’t let him get to you.”

She lifted big, wounded eyes to Ovida, whispering, “He said that Mom would be disappointed in me.”

Ovida scoffed at that. “No way! Your mother thought the sun rose and set in you and Beau. Your father’s the one she’d be disappointed in, not you. Never you, sugar. And no one knew Suzanne better than I did. I knew your mom from the time she was eleven years old. I was her Sunday School teacher. Trust me on this.”

Nicole smiled wanly. “Mom always said you were the big sister she never had.”

“Oh, and I loved her like a sister.”

“He loved her, too, you know,” Nicole said wistfully.

“I know,” Ovida conceded. “I know. But that doesn’t give him the right to behave this way.”

“Would you like me to speak to him?” Marcus asked. “I think he needs to hear that God still loves him.”

Nicole looked at him, wide-eyed, and shook her head. “I—I don’t think he’d sit still for that. Maybe later, once he’s calmed down.”

“He’d have to be more open than the last time I tried to talk to him,” Ovida warned sadly. “He threw me out of his house—me, who he’s known for decades. He said God and church didn’t do Suzanne any good and he didn’t want to hear any more mealymouthed Bible-thumpers telling him it was for the best.”

“Ah.” Marcus nodded, understanding the problem exactly.

He’d seen it before, a weak faith trying to believe that a desired outcome was the only right one, then shattering completely when God’s will didn’t follow the proscribed path. Jolie had succumbed to that kind of disappointment and doubt after Connie had reclaimed her son, Russell, but with prayer and patience and a willingness on Vince’s part to be used by God, she’d come to see the truth. Marcus made a mental pact with himself to pray regularly for the Archers, starting now.

At his request, Nicole bowed her head and sat quietly while he spoke to God about protection for her and her brother and emotional and spiritual healing for Dillard Archer. Afterward, he spoke to Nicole about AlAnon, the support organization for the family and dependents of alcoholics, and she seemed interested in possibly attending a meeting, if her schedule permitted. Marcus promised to locate the nearest meeting for her, although it sounded as if she already had a pretty full timetable with classes and work and her family.

“Where do you live exactly?”

“Dalworthington Gardens.”

“We’re practically neighbors then. I’m at First Church in Pantego.”

“I know that church,” Nicole said, surprising and pleasing him. “I pass it on my way to school. I like the way it looks, sort of homey and old-fashioned, almost like its own little town.”

Marcus felt his grin stretch to ridiculous proportions. Something odd shimmered through him, something he couldn’t quite identify that snatched at his breath. He cleared his throat and said, “That’s exactly the impression we were going for, a community of believers with the church at its center.”

“But don’t be fooled by the exterior,” Ovida advised Nicole. “It’s a powerful little church, a real asset to the city, and pretty cutting-edge when it comes to technology and worship.”

“We do try,” Marcus conceded. “It’s been an exciting pastorate so far.”

“You ought to visit, Nicole,” Ovida urged. “You and Beau might like it there.”

Nicole looked at Marcus, her warm brown eyes measuring him. “We might,” she said, and then she dropped her gaze pointedly.

Marcus felt a jolt. That hadn’t been personal interest he’d seen in her eyes, surely? No, of course not. To her, he must seem like the next thing to an old man, which, comparably speaking, he was. That seemed a particularly dismal thought.

As talk became more chatter than confession and hand-wringing, Marcus made himself sit silently, a mere observer now that the emotional crisis had passed. It was what he did, part of his calling. He was good at stepping up to the plate when called upon to bat and equally good at retiring once he’d taken his swing. He couldn’t help wondering why this time it was proving so difficult.

Perhaps he should rejoin the party in the other room. He, after all, was the guest of honor. Yes, he should definitely excuse himself. Yet, he sat right there, listening as Ovida and Nicole talked of events in which he’d had no part and people whom he didn’t know.

For some reason he couldn’t tear himself away. Yet, this time, observation felt strangely like being on the outside looking in.

Was he suddenly so old, Marcus wondered, that he’d lost touch already with such fresh-faced youth as this? If so, then surely it was past time for God to bring him a wife.

That wasn’t too much for a man to ask on his thirtieth birthday, was it? Then again, hadn’t he just told God that he’d be happy with those blessings already granted him?

He stared at Nicole’s pretty profile, observing the animation with which she spoke, and knew that if his interest could be elicited by this mere girl, then he was in big trouble. Not only was she too young for him, she was entirely unsuitable.

A minister’s wife did not dress in such eccentric fashion. She didn’t bounce around in her seat and gesture broadly as if physically incapable of sitting still. And she sure wouldn’t slide alarmingly coy looks across a table at a man she’d just met.

It struck him then how laughingly desperate he had become.

Nicole was little more than a child, whose life was, nevertheless, chock-full of stress and responsibility. At her age she probably batted her eyelashes at every male in the immediate vicinity without even knowing that she was doing it.

And he was a thirty-year-old fool who obviously needed to remember that his priority in life was his ministry. That ministry included helping emotionally beleaguered young ladies find the faith to make difficult decisions. If the opportunity arose, that was precisely what he would do for Miss Nicole Archer.

He had the unsettling feeling that such an opportunity would, indeed, arise and no understanding at all why that should alarm him.

Chapter Two

Nicole allowed both Marcus Wheeler and Ovida Cutler to escort her to the door, even though she knew it was an imposition for him. This was his birthday, after all, and the party had been going on without him for some time already. Still, she couldn’t resist. He was so…calm. Serene, even. And gorgeous—in a very buttoned-down and conservative way, which, oddly enough, she didn’t mind at all.

Once in the spacious entry hall, Nicole took some time to look around her, stalling the moment when she must actually leave. Western chic wasn’t her thing, but the sheer proportions of the place were impressive, and she liked the colors and the rustic light fixture overhead.

She’d barely noticed her surroundings when she’d arrived. Her pain and desperation had blinded her to everything except the need to find a little reassurance, some measure of comfort. At times like that she missed her mother so much that she literally hurt. That was when she reached out to Ovida.

Lately, her father’s drinking had escalated and she’d been reaching out more and more. Surely things would calm down soon, though. Her father seemed to cycle in and out of these ongoing rages.

He’d be surly and withdrawn for a while, then gradually would grow more belligerent until he began exploding over the smallest things. Finally he’d rage for hours, saying cruel, hurtful things to her and her brother. Eventually he’d drink himself into oblivion. Misery and apologies would follow the hangover. Then the cycle would begin again.

She hoped they were at the end of that ugly cycle now, but even if they weren’t she still couldn’t bring herself to follow the pastor’s advice to call the police or even Family Services. She couldn’t bear the thought of her father in detox or jail or her brother in foster care. Such a thing would have been inconceivable while her mother lived. Every time Nicole thought of calling the police, she’d picture her mother’s face, see the sadness, disappointment and anguish in her eyes, and she couldn’t do it.

No, she just couldn’t see herself following the good minister’s advice. That didn’t mean, however, that Nicole wasn’t glad to have met Marcus Wheeler. Far from it. Looking up now into his warm, moss-green eyes she felt safe, reassured, and not a little thrilled.

Who knew that ministers were this good-looking? Not to mention young.

Okay, he was a little older than the college crowd, but thirty wasn’t exactly over the hill. Besides, she didn’t fit in with that group all that well herself. She didn’t fit in anywhere, truth be told. In some ways she felt aeons older than her friends. In others she felt like a complete innocent. They were into partying and carefree escapades. She was into her family and fulfilling her responsibilities.

For Nicole, it was all about making a future for herself and her little brother. She didn’t have time for parties and dates. She’d be tempted to make an exception for someone like Marcus, though. All antique gold and polished bronze, Marcus was not only handsome, he radiated strength, gentle confidence and genuine concern. Surely such a man would be a good influence on her little brother.

At first, mortified to have broken in on a family gathering, Nicole was now glad that she had come here today. She’d found what she needed: the strength to go home again and put up with whatever awaited her there a little longer. On the way, she’d swing by the library and pick up Beau. Meanwhile, she owed this man, if only for his kindness.

“I’m sorry about interrupting your birthday party.”

He shook his head, smiling as laughter spilled out of the living room. “Doesn’t sound to me like you put a crimp in anything.”

“Still, it was good of you to take time away from your guests to talk to me.”

“It was my pleasure. I’ll be praying for you.”

“Thank you.”

“We’ll both be praying for you, honey,” Ovida broke in, hugging her. “Think about what the pastor said, will you?”

Nicole nodded. She’d think about it, but she knew that she wouldn’t call the authorities.

“I’d better go,” she said reluctantly. “The library closes at nine.”

“Hug that brother of yours for me,” Ovida instructed.

“I will.”

“And don’t hesitate to reach out again if you need me.”

“But if you should need another ally,” Marcus interjected smoothly, reaching into his shirt pocket and producing a small card, “I can usually be reached at one of these numbers.”

Ridiculously pleased, Nicole took the card and slipped it into her glove. She would definitely be calling on the young minister, just as soon as she could come up with a valid reason. With one last squeeze of Ovida’s hand and a warm smile for Marcus Wheeler, Nicole slipped through the door that he opened for her.

He stepped outside onto the low front stoop and watched from beneath the tall brick arch until she was safely inside her old car. In his shirtsleeves against the frosty February temperatures, he continued to stand there while she cranked and cranked the starter on her rattletrap vehicle. Then, once the engine finally turned over, he lifted a hand in farewell before rejoining the party inside. It seemed a very gentlemanly thing to do.

Nicole smiled to herself as she drove off into the night, feeling the edges of his card against the back of her hand, where it nestled inside her glove.

Their paths would cross again.

Connie stirred honey into her herbal tea, tapped the spoon on the rim of the cup and laid it aside before slipping her forefinger into the dainty hole formed by the handle and lifting the hot, fragrant brew to her lips.

“So, find out any interesting tidbits about our unexpected guest at the birthday party the other night?” Jolie asked, lifting her straight, thick, biscuit-brown hair so she could lean back in her kitchen chair without trapping it.

Connie blew on her tea, then shook her bright gold hair. They’d both been curious about Nicole Archer. Something about that girl made a person sit up and take notice, something besides the wardrobe, which was even odder than those of the young women one saw on the streets these days.

“You know Marcus and his ministerial ethics,” Connie said. “All I could get out of him is that her mother and your mother-in-law were friends.”

“Were is the operative word,” Jolie divulged, absently rubbing her swollen belly. “Mrs. Archer died over three years ago. Cancer. Ovida was her Sunday School teacher at one time, and the two stayed close over the years. Now Ovida’s become sort of a surrogate mother for Nicole. Supposedly, Nicole’s father drinks a lot.”

Connie sipped from her cup and set it down again.

“I guess mothers-in-law don’t have the same ethical concerns as ministers.”

Jolie chuckled. Conversation turned to their plans for the upcoming weekend. Vince and Jolie planned to shop for the baby’s room. Connie and Kendal were taking their children to a popular pizza arcade for the birthday celebration of one of their young friends.

“We may not stay long,” Connie said. “It depends on how well Larissa does in that environment.”

Little Larissa still suffered the occasional meltdown when overstimulated, but her conduct had improved by leaps and bounds in the ten months since Connie and sweet, placid Russell had come into her life. Still, Connie and Kendal were careful to monitor her environment and coach her behavior. They made a good team and, Jolie had to admit, were excellent parents.

Jolie no longer grieved or resented the removal of her nephew from her care. The way she looked at it, everything was as it should be. As God had wanted it to be. She could be Russell’s aunt now without wishing she was still his de facto mom, and she again enjoyed the company and companionship of her sister and brother. Best of all, she and Vince were going to have their own child, who was even then turning somersaults inside her womb.

“Goodness, this boy’s going to be an athlete of some sort. He’s always in motion lately.”

It was no secret that the Cutlers were football fanatics, and Jolie knew that Vince was dreaming of sitting on the sidelines to watch his son play. Connie opened her mouth to comment, but just then the doorbell rang.

“I’ll go,” she said, slipping out of her chair and waving Jolie back down into hers.

“Can’t imagine who it is,” Jolie murmured, arching her back to relieve an ache in her spine.

It was probably someone wanting to clean her carpet or sell her a magazine subscription. While she waited for Connie to return, she decided that she’d have another cup of herbal tea and rose to move to the kettle cheerfully steaming on the stovetop.

The tea bag was steeping when Connie appeared on the other side of the bar that separated the den from the kitchen. She was not alone.

“Do you happen to know where Ovida is now?” Connie asked, glancing meaningfully at the young woman at her side. “Nicole is looking for her.”

Jolie shook her head. “I think she was going over to Sharon’s, but that was hours ago.” Sharon was the oldest of Vince’s four sisters.

Nicole frowned. “I went by there,” she said, “but no one was at home.”

Jolie considered. “Obviously they went somewhere. That woman really ought to get a cell phone.” She snapped her fingers. “Sharon’s got one. Why don’t I give her a call?”

Nicole brightened visibly.

“Would you mind? I don’t usually work on Friday afternoons, but I’ve been called in to cover for another server, and I really need someone to pick up my little brother from school.”

Jolie went to the telephone and dialed Sharon’s number, but the cell went straight to voice mail. She left a brief message and hung up before turning back to Nicole.

“Sorry,” she said, leaning against the counter. “Sharon isn’t answering. She probably forgot to turn the phone on.”

Nicole sighed and shifted her weight, one hip sliding out. Jolie glanced at Connie, who lifted her eyebrows, then studied the girl.

Girl wasn’t exactly the right word. She was young, yes, and a little quirky with her dark hair twisted up on top of her head and sticking out in all directions. Fat, sleek tendrils of it hung down beside her face, which was really very pretty, no thanks to artifice.

Jolie didn’t much like to wear makeup herself and considered that it would have been a crime to cover up Nicole’s flawless ivory complexion. Nicole was really very striking, Jolie decided, despite the slender, fraying cropped jeans that she wore with clashing stripes.

Her oversize, rainbow-hued sweater was striped vertically in wide bands of vivid color, but the black-and-white stripes of the turtleneck that she wore beneath it ran horizontally, while her socks sported a diagonal pattern of yellow-and-orange bands.

It was enough to make an innocent observer dizzy.

Jolie cleared her throat and concentrated on Nicole’s pretty eyes. They were almost leonine in their shape and size, and the slight tilt at the outer edges gave her an exotic air. It was the frankness in those warm brown eyes that most appealed to Jolie, however. They seemed to speak volumes, and one thing came through loud and clear.

This girl was worried about her brother.

“I could do it,” Jolie said impulsively.

“Oh, Jo,” Connie put in quickly, “you don’t need to go out.” She turned to Nicole. “I’ll do it. Just tell me where his school is, and I’ll drive by on my way home, pick him up and drop him off at your house.”

Nicole made a face. “Actually, I don’t want him dropped off. I—I was hoping Ovida would take him home with her until I get off work. I mean, he’s thirteen, he hardly needs babysitting, but…well, he spends a lot of time alone.”

Jolie looked at Connie and saw the same conclusion in her gaze. Nicole didn’t want her brother to go home because their father was drinking.

“Do you think,” Nicole began hesitantly, “that your brother, Marcus, might…?”

“That’s brilliant!” Jolie exclaimed. “Why don’t we give him a call?”

Nicole lifted a shoulder, already backing away. “Maybe I’ll just drop by the church on my way to work.”

“Oh.” Again Jolie traded glances with her sister, her instincts perking up. “That’ll work. And if for some reason he can’t help you, just ask him to give one of us a call.”

“Thank you. I appreciate that,” Nicole said, practically out of the room.

Jolie followed, trying to see her unexpected guest out. She barely got to the entry hall before Nicole opened the front door. “Thanks again. Everyone in your family is so nice.”

“Think nothing…” The door closed before she could get the rest of it out. Jolie folded her arms consideringly before turning back toward the kitchen.

“She was certainly in a hurry,” she told Connie as she reentered the room.

“Guess she had to get to work.”

“Somehow I think it’s more than that,” Jolie said, sending her sister a droll look.

Connie set down her cup and folded her arms against the table. “I thought she seemed a little taken with him the other day. Not that he would notice.”

“True.” Sighing, Jolie lowered herself into her chair. “That’s a big part of the problem, you know. He’s just oblivious.”

Connie shrugged. “Well, maybe a minister has to be.”

“Maybe. On the other hand, how does he ever expect to find anyone if he doesn’t at least open himself up to the possibility?”

Connie smiled. “Oh, the same way we did, maybe.”

Jolie burst out laughing. “In other words, God will have to drop her on his head.”

“Something like that.” Connie grinned.

What neither of them said aloud was that Nicole Archer couldn’t possibly be the one. Indeed, it went without saying. Just as well then, that Marcus would probably never even realize that quirky little Nicole was developing a crush on him.

“I don’t get home until almost ten. The restaurant closes at nine on Fridays, but we have to clear out the electronic till and help clean up before we go.”

“No problem,” Marcus told her.

They’d met on the sidewalk in the midst of the church compound. He’d pulled in just ahead of her, having returned from the office supply store. His heart had leaped when her little jalopy had nosed into the space beside his dependable, late-model sedan and again when she’d clambered out to smile at him, costumed in the most outrageous stripes he’d ever seen. He could hardly look at her—and couldn’t look away.

Nicole gusted a huge sigh of relief and turned those big, tilted eyes up at him. “Thank you so much. It’s a huge weight off my shoulders. We need the extra money, you know, but right now Beau can’t be home with…out me,” she finished weakly.

It was cold out, but Marcus set the bag of office supplies on the hood of his sedan and leaned a hip against the fender, crossing his arms. “Have you given any more thought to what I said about calling the authorities?”

She shook her head. “It’s just not an option.”

“Nicole, it’s not going to get better until he’s faced with reality.”

“Look,” she said, skipping closer. “I’m less than two semesters away from graduation. Then Beau and I can afford to take off on our own.”

“Just like that?”

“No, not…I mean, we’re making real plans.”

Marcus didn’t have the heart to point out that their father might have a good deal more to say about that than either of them realized.

“Well, we can talk about this later. You just go on to work and leave Beau to me,” Marcus told her. “Which school is it?”

Nicole told him the name of the middle school where Beau was an eighth grader and launched into directions. “You go out here and turn right.” She pointed toward the street. “Then it’s the third light—”

“I know it well,” Marcus interrupted. “Several of our youngsters attend there, and some of our adult members are on the staff.”

She clapped her gloved hands together. “Great! I’ll call from work and let them know you’ll be picking him up.”

“Just have him wait in the office.”

“You’re sure you don’t mind entertaining him for the evening?”

“Not at all.”

She dug a toe into a crack in the pavement. “I thought maybe you had other plans or something.”

“None. I’m looking forward to the company.” He leaned toward her, aware that it wasn’t a gesture he normally employed and a little puzzled by the urge to do so now. “Gives me a good excuse to play video games.” She laughed, and the sound made him smile.

“As if any guy needs an excuse to play video games.”

“Hey, you reach a certain age,” he said with a helpless shrug.

“Puh-leeze.” Reaching out, she gave his shoulder a little shove. “You’re not exactly a grandfather.”

His first impulse was to playfully shove back, but he kept his arms tightly folded, surprised by the discipline required to do so. “I’m not exactly a kid, either.”

“Not exactly.”

She didn’t sound as if that was a bad thing. He didn’t want to think about why. Instead, he reminded himself what his purpose was.

“I do have a favor to ask in return, though,” he said.

She spread her hands. “Anything I can do. Anything at all.”

“I’d like for you and your brother to attend church.”

“Ah.” She dropped her gaze and rocked back on her heels.

“You said you might,” he cajoled.

She shined a blindingly bright smile on him. “I’d already planned on it.”

“Excellent.” He pushed away from the car and reached for the shopping bag. “This is what I call a real win-win situation.”

“Yeah, well, don’t be surprised tonight if Beau’s not quite so…enthusiastic.” She wrinkled her nose. “He is thirteen.”

Marcus chuckled. “He doesn’t like to be babysat.”

“Exactly.”

“Fine. I won’t babysit him. I’ll just pick him up, feed him and allow him to keep me company until I drop him off at your house.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that. I’ll pick him up.”

Marcus shook his head. “No way. Not at that time of night.”

“But I’m out at that hour all the time.”

“Not if I can help it.”

She rolled her eyes. “I’m not the thirteen-year-old.”

“I’m aware of that. Nevertheless, I’d feel better if you’d go straight home after work.”

Nicole flattened her mouth. It was a very pretty mouth, too pretty to appear stern. He smiled, and she threw up her hands.

“Oh, all right. But don’t think I’m going to let you get away with treating me like a child, Marcus Wheeler, because I’m not.”

“You are, however, young and female and too pretty for your own good.” He snapped his mouth shut, wondering where on earth that had come from.

She had beamed before. Now her smile could have warned ships at sea.

He gulped and said, “I—I wouldn’t let my mother wander around on her own late at night. In fact, if I could have stopped that, she might still be alive.”

Nicole’s smile softened. “It’s terrible to lose your mom, isn’t it?”

He nodded, suddenly swamped with emotion. “She died in an auto accident.”

“I’m sorry to hear that.”

“No sorrier than I was to hear about your loss. I was only seven when she disappeared. We didn’t know she’d died for years.” Now why had he told her that?

Long, slender fingers wrapped around his hand. Even through the leather of her gloves, he felt the heat of her hand.

“That’s so sad,” she said, “At least I had my mom until I was grown.”

He almost snorted at that. She was barely grown now.

Barely, but grown.

Abruptly he stepped back. As if sensing that she’d made him uncomfortable, she swiftly turned away, saying, “I’d better run. Thanks again.”

“Don’t worry about it,” he called after her.

She flashed him a smile and dropped behind the wheel of her car. That thing looked as if it was held together with baling wire and prayer. Another reason she ought not to be running around on her own late at night. He stood where he was until she managed to crank the engine to sputtering life and bully the transmission into reverse. Only as she drove away did he turn toward the office.

He hoped that restaurant where she worked made their servers wear uniforms. Otherwise, customers were bound to lose their appetites. He laughed at the memory of all those stripes as he pushed through the heavy glass door into the outer office.

Glancing at the clock on the wall behind his secretary’s desk, he made note of the time. Ten minutes after three. He had plenty of time, but it wouldn’t hurt to be in the principal’s office waiting for Beau when the bell rang at four o’clock. Even as he deposited the bag on Carlita’s desk and shrugged out of his overcoat, he told himself that he had known he would cross paths with the Archer family again.

He tossed the three-quarter-length tan coat over a chair, explaining, “I’m going out again in a few minutes. I just want to grab a few video games from David’s office.”

David Calloway was their part-time minister of youth. Marcus hoped to introduce him to Beau very soon.

“You shouldn’t be here at all,” Carlita reminded him in her tart, Spanish-tinged English. “It is Friday.”

The single mom of four children and several years his senior, Carlita was prone to mother him a bit. He didn’t mind. Having someone care about you was not an onerous burden.

He knew that Carlita and his sisters thought he worked too much, but he liked his work. Besides, some weeks emergency calls and visitation kept him out of the office, so Friday might be the only day he had to catch up on things, like picking up supplies he’d failed to have delivered with the regular monthly order.

Even as he rifled through the stack of video game discs on a shelf in David’s tiny office, Marcus mused that he had no reason not to work. What use was a day off if it was spent alone? It was good to have the prospect of company, any prospect of company. Even if Beau Archer proved less engaging than his sister, Marcus would be grateful for the companionship.

It had been almost a year since Connie and Russell had moved out, but he still missed them. Not that he would have changed anything. They were happy as could be with Kendal and Larissa. It was just that he’d never been much good at living alone. The parsonage was small, but it could still feel lonely for one person.

In the early years after their mother had disappeared, he’d missed his sisters terribly, but at least he hadn’t been alone. His foster parents had looked after a houseful of boys. Then when he’d first gone off to college he’d lived in a dorm, and after that he’d shared apartments or houses with various buddies.

He’d spent a few months on his own after the church had called him, but that had been a very busy time. Then Connie had gotten out of prison and she and Russell had come to live with him.

Those had been good months, especially after God had brought Vince into Jolie’s life and spurred her to forgive him and Connie for removing Russell from her custody. Now the family was not only together again, it was expanding.

His sisters’ happy marriages had seen to that. If it felt as though something was missing from his own life, well, he expected God to put that right one of these days, too. He was trying not to be impatient about it.

Unbidden, an image of Nicole Archer standing in his sister’s foyer came to him, and he resolutely pushed it away. Nicole was an opportunity to minister, not a prospective spouse. The very idea was ludicrous for a number of reasons. Besides, she needed his help, not his desperate, misplaced attentions. She probably had a boyfriend, anyway.

The thought made him wince, and he resolved to put it firmly out of mind, unwilling to picture Nicole flirting and smiling with some boy and managing to do so just the same. He was forced to admit that he couldn’t see her with a boy. Some guy like David was much more her speed. Thankfully, er, fortunately, the young minister of youth was engaged, a matter of no little irony to Marcus’s mind.

Not even out of seminary yet and already engaged to be married. It was enough to make a mature, older man just a tad envious.

Marcus strolled past Carlita’s desk, tossed on his coat, pocketed the game discs and moved toward the door again, saying, “I’m gone now. Have a good weekend.”

“You, too, Pastor,” she called as he pushed through the door.

The winter air was bracing, and the weather forecast predicted sleet in the wee hours of the coming morning. Marcus stood for a moment and inhaled deeply, clearing his head of unwanted thoughts. He hoped the prognosticators were correct about the timing of the coming sleet storm.

February always brought at least one ice storm to north central Texas, and it invariably shut down the entire Dallas-Fort Worth Metroplex area for a day or more. For the sake of road safety, it was better that it happen on a weekend than a workday, even if it meant that church attendance would be down this Sunday.

Marcus let himself into his sedan and started up the engine, warm inside his coat. Lots of the kids around here routinely walked to and from school, regardless of the weather; Marcus was glad that Beau wouldn’t be one of them, at least for today.

He was curious about Nicole’s brother. Actually, he was curious about everything having to do with Nicole Archer. After only one meeting, he’d known that she was a very unusual young lady. Something about her had stuck with him since their initial meeting two days ago. In fact, he hadn’t been able to get her out of his mind. That, no doubt, was because God was calling him to perform this service for her and her family, this and others to come.

Marcus was glad to do so. That’s what his life, his calling, was about. God would take care of everything else in His own good time.

Chapter Three

When Marcus walked into the school, he was instantly recognized by the attendance officer and the vice principal, Joyce Ballard, who was a member of his church. He greeted both by their given names and stated his purpose for being there.

“I didn’t realize you knew Beau,” the vice principal observed nonchalantly.

A tall, thin woman, she looked older than her forty-something years and could be very stern, but Marcus knew that she genuinely cared about her young charges.

“Actually, we haven’t met yet. I know his sister.”

“Some of our parents could take a lesson from that girl,” Joyce said.

“She does seem devoted to her brother.”

“No doubt about it,” the woman said, going back to the paperwork she’d been doing when he’d entered.

Marcus removed his coat and sat down to wait for the bell to ring. As she worked, the vice principal gave him the rundown on some of their church kids. One had done very well in a University Interscholastic League competition that week. Another had been out ill with a cold, and a third had recently won the lead role in a school drama. Marcus made the appropriate mental notes and was about to ask about another youngster when the bell rang.

Instantly, kids spilled out into the hallways. Noise swelled, happy voices punctuated the sounds of heavy footsteps and the slamming of locker doors. Rising, Marcus reached for his overcoat just as a group of youngsters swarmed into the office, talking loudly. Among them was a solemn boy with medium brown hair and dark brown eyes. The vice principal singled him out at once.

“Beau, this is Pastor Wheeler. Your sister sent him to pick you up.”

Marcus stuck out his hand, saying, “Hello, Beau. I’m Marcus.”

The boy hesitated, sizing up this newcomer. Marcus openly returned his regard, patiently keeping his hand out.

Beau’s blocky build and squarish face had nothing in common with his sister’s. Though of only average height at present, he was destined to make a big man. Only his coloring was similar to Nicole’s, if reversed. Where her hair was dark and her eyes lighter, the opposite was true for Beau.

Unlike his sister’s, his choice of wardrobe was mundane: athletic shoes, a maroon T-shirt that was a bit too small and faded, baggy jeans. What struck Marcus most, however, was the wariness in Beau’s dark eyes. Marcus had seen that wounded, haunted, uncertain look before. He’d seen it far too many times, in fact, most often in the mirror.

Finally Beau shifted his bright blue backpack to the other shoulder and shook Marcus’s hand. Marcus let his smile broaden.

After a farewell wave to the adults in the office, Marcus followed the boy out into the busy hallway. The boy didn’t appear to have a coat, but Marcus said nothing, all too aware of the prickly pride of a thirteen-year-old boy whose parents didn’t live up to their responsibilities. Instead, he folded his own coat over his arm and headed for the wall of doors at the end of the hall. If Beau was going to suffer the cold, Marcus would, as well, not that Beau seemed to notice.

The boy seemed uninterested in conversing. He sat hunched in the passenger seat of Marcus’s sedan, his attitude clearly wary and defensive. The only reply Beau made to Marcus’s explanation for why Nicole hadn’t picked him up and to the series of polite questions about what he’d like to do that evening was, “I’m hungry.”

So Marcus took him to the closest fast-food joint, where he ordered a hamburger and a cola. Marcus said nothing about the possibility of him ruining his dinner. He knew from experience that boys the age of Beau could eat their own weight three times a day and still be hungry.

When Beau pulled a couple of bucks out of his pants pocket, Marcus politely ignored him, ordered a milk shake and fries for himself, neither of which he really wanted, and paid for everything. The food came quickly, and they carried it to a corner booth where they sat in silence for several minutes.

Marcus picked a fry from a tiny paper bag and munched it, turning sideways on the bench to stretch out his legs. Having allowed the boy to eat undisturbed for some time, Marcus adopted a nonchalant tone and prepared to gently prod.

“So tell me about yourself, Beau.”

“Like what?” came the doubtful reply.

Marcus said the first thing that came into his head. “Do you have a favorite subject in school?”

The boy bit off a huge chunk of hamburger and studiously chewed it. Marcus figured it was an excuse not to speak, but then the boy surprised him.

Marcus discovered that Beau was an indifferent student with a passion for music. He was not, however, in band classes, either because he couldn’t afford it or he didn’t like the band director. Or both.

“It’s whack,” Beau grumbled. “Mr. Placid doesn’t like guitar. Says there’s no future in it. Like there’s a huge future in tuba and xylophone. Truth is, he just doesn’t know squat about it.”

Marcus was familiar with that term whack. In the parlance of the modern youth it meant the opposite of cool, but he had no intention of trying to demonstrate his grasp of current teen lingo. Kids were quick to spot a patronizing adult. Instead, he played it straight down the line.

“So you play the guitar, then. I’m envious. It’s all I can do to follow along in the hymnal.”

“My grandpa taught me when I was a baby,” Beau said softly, and Marcus instantly picked up on the significance of that.

“Yeah? Does your grandpa live around here?”

Beau shook his head before explaining that his grandfather had died the same year as his mom.

“Tell me something good you remember about him,” Marcus urged.

A light shone in Beau’s eyes. The sullen, wary teenager had gone, and in his place sat a simple boy who had lost too much.

“He had this cabin up in Oklahoma. We used to go up there in the summertime. It’s right on the river. You ever been on the Illinois River?”

Marcus shook his head and swung his legs around to sit facing the boy again. “No, I’m sorry to say that I haven’t.”

Beau began a monologue on an old canoe that they’d kept at the campground at the bottom of the bluff below the cabin and all the times he and his grandfather had taken it out.

“There’s these pools, where the water’s still, and that’s where you get the most fish,” he said wistfully. “I wish I could go back there for good.”

“What about your grandmother?” Marcus asked. “Doesn’t she still live there?”

Beau shook his head. “She lives up in Seattle with my great-aunt. Her mind got bad even before my mom got sick, and she pretty much forgot everything. When Grandpa died, Nicole wanted to take care of her, but Aunt Margaret said she’d do it so Nic could go to college.”

“That was good of your great-aunt.”

“Yeah. She’s pretty old herself.”

Marcus wanted the boy to know that he was blessed despite all of his losses and problems, so he made a confession. “I don’t have any great-aunts or anybody like that, and I don’t have anything good to remember about any of my family except my sisters.”

Beau furrowed his brow at that, asking, “How come?”

“My grandparents died before I was born. They didn’t have any family except my mom. I never knew my dad’s family or anything about them. My dad wasn’t around much, and he split when I was about four. Then my mom took off a few years later and was killed in an auto accident.”

“That stinks.”

“It sure did. My foster parents tried to make things fun for the boys who lived with them, but there wasn’t much money and my foster mom was crippled up pretty bad with arthritis. Besides, it was kind of hard to have fun without my little sisters there. All that’s changed now, though.” He sat back, aware that he had Beau’s full attention. “Everybody’s good now. My sisters are both married to really great guys. They both have nice homes, and I have a nephew and a niece with one more on the way. Plus, there are the Cutlers.”

“You know the Cutlers?”

“My sister Jolie is married to Vince.”

“No kidding?”

“That’s how I met your sister.”

“Nicole says the Cutlers are like a tribe. There are so many of them, and they’ve got all these rituals and stuff, like football, and everybody’s always hanging out together. Man, that’s gotta be bananas.”

Marcus laughed. “Close.” He pushed the milk shake over, saying offhandedly, “Want that? I’m not as hungry as I thought I was.”

Beau drained his cola in one long swig and reached for the milk shake, asking, “So how come you’re not married?”

Marcus was a bit taken aback. “Been wondering that same thing myself. Just haven’t found the right woman yet.”

Talk turned to other things. Beau never once mentioned his father, but he obviously depended on his sister for everything. Marcus hoped Beau knew how blessed he was in that sister of his, but he wasn’t sure that a thirteen-year-old was capable of understanding how unique Nicole was.

Most young ladies her age were all about guys and friends and accumulating things, not providing stable homes for their younger siblings. Marcus understood her motivation better than most, but Beau likely took her somewhat for granted, which probably was as it should be. Someday, though, Beau would look back and understand what his sister had done for him. At least Marcus wanted to think he would, for Beau’s sake as much as Nicole’s.

Beau finished his “snack,” including what was left of Marcus’s French fries, and allowed Marcus to lead him outside. As predicted, clouds had swept in on a new pressure system, obscuring the sun and dropping the temperature into the twenties.

Marcus hustled the boy into the car and resumed his place behind the steering wheel. He started the engine and cranked up the heater, hoping that it wouldn’t take long to warm up.

Beau’s lack of a coat was troubling, and Marcus tried to think how to address the situation, finally coming up with a rather obvious approach. “Would you like to drop by your house to pick up your coat?”

Obviously alarmed, Beau exclaimed, “No!”

Knowing what he did about Dillard Archer, Marcus considered that response ominous, but he didn’t want to judge the man unfairly. “Mind if I ask why?” When the boy pressed his lips together sullenly, Marcus explained, “It’s too cold for you to be running around without a coat.”

“Mine’s dirty,” Beau mumbled.

“A dirty coat is better than no coat, Beau,” Marcus pointed out.

The boy suddenly erupted. “My dad threw up on it, okay? He was sloppy hungover and he barfed all over my coat this morning!” He turned his face away, ashamed.

Marcus surreptitiously fortified himself with a deep breath, his heart going out to the boy, and carefully chose his next words. “Your father’s alcoholism is a real problem for you. I’m sorry about that. With my dad it was drugs.”

Beau slid a curious look over Marcus. “Yeah?”

“He overdosed not long before my mom left with her boyfriend. She used it as an excuse, actually. She kept saying that she had to provide my sisters and me with a father, as if my dad had ever really been a part of our lives. I couldn’t figure out how taking off without us was supposed to provide us with parents, anyway.”

“My mom would never do something like that,” Beau vowed.

“I understand she was a fine Christian woman,” Marcus said softly. “You must be very proud of that.”

Beau nodded, whispering, “Before she died, everything was real good.”

“It will be good again, Beau,” Marcus promised. “I’m living proof of that. Now about that coat…”

“He’ll be drinking again by now,” Beau said miserably, shaking his head and staring out the windshield.

“Actually,” Marcus said, “I was thinking about an old coat I have that you can use. Want to go take a look at it?”

Beau hunched a shoulder in a seemingly unconcerned shrug. Marcus took that for assent and headed for the parsonage.

When they turned into the church grounds, Beau seemed surprised. Looking around him quickly, he exclaimed, “It’s almost like a town.”

“A very small town perhaps,” Marcus said, guiding the car past the church offices and day care center.

He explained that the membership had needed to expand the church but they hadn’t wanted to abandon their beloved old sanctuary. The solution had been to purchase, one by one, the houses which had faced the original church on every side.

The buildings were then renovated according to their assigned purpose and linked via covered walkways. In some cases, two buildings had been joined by an addition to form a larger space. Marcus pointed out the education building, the fellowship hall, the youth department and the music center. A house still undergoing renovation would soon serve as a furlough home for missionaries and their families returning to the U.S. on leave or for some other reason.

As Marcus eased the sedan into the narrow garage of the tiny parsonage, Beau pointed out that the “missionary house” was much larger than the home occupied by Marcus.

“Well, maybe someday I’ll get married and need the larger house,” Marcus said, unconcerned. “Then this house will be the furlough house, although we might have to add a bedroom or two.”

Marcus tossed his own coat over the counter that separated the small kitchen from the combined dining and living area, flipping on the overhead light as he did so. He’d forgotten that the place was so cluttered. A necktie, which went with the shirt draped over the back of a dining chair, lay in a snaky heap next to this morning’s unwashed breakfast bowl and an empty milk carton. Books were stacked on the dining table. Today’s newspaper had drifted off the old-fashioned, green vinyl sofa onto the floor, and Marcus wondered suddenly when he’d last vacuumed the sand-colored carpet.

Beau chuckled and commented, “Man, Nicole would send you to your room if she got a load of this.”

Marcus sent him a bemused glance, bringing his hands to his hips before once again surveying the place. “She’d be justified, too.”

He started gathering up his errant clothing. Beau leaned an elbow on the counter and parked his chin on the palm of his hand.

“What’s for dinner?”

Marcus nearly dropped everything he’d gathered. They had just eaten, hadn’t they? Growing boys. “Pizza?”

“I’ll call it in!” Beau exclaimed eagerly. Marcus chuckled and pointed out the phone.

By the time he’d dumped his load and reached into his closet for the coat he had in mind for Beau, the pizza was on its way.

Made of quilted gray nylon with snaps up the front and ribbed cuffs, the coat was a couple sizes too large for Marcus, having once belonged to his foster father, which meant that it would swallow the boy. Marcus counted on the inexplicable teenage fixation with oversize clothing to make the coat acceptable to Beau, and it did exactly that.

“Über!” Beau exclaimed, pushing up the sleeves to expose his hands.

Marcus recognized the German word for super. “You can keep it if you want,” he offered. “I never wear it.”

Beau looked pleased, then doubtful. “Nicole may not like it. She says we have to do for ourselves.”

“I don’t think she’ll object.”

Still unconvinced, Beau peeled off the coat and laid it across the chrome-banded, wood coffee table.

“Well, you can return it later, if you want,” Marcus said lightly. “How about a video game?”

It was glaringly obvious long before the pizza came that Marcus was no competition for the boy at all, but that didn’t seem to matter. As the pizza swiftly disappeared into the boy’s mouth, Marcus silently marveled, remembering well when he, too, had eaten like a human garbage disposal. It seemed long ago now.

When they finally turned off the game, Marcus was surprised to find that the evening news was just signing off.

“We’ve got to get you home!”

Beau didn’t argue, just popped up and tossed on his borrowed coat. Marcus grabbed his own coat, and the two hurried out.

The winter night was brittle with cold, but the clouds had unexpectedly cleared away, leaving the city lights to sparkle and glow against the pitch-black backdrop of the starry sky. Their breath puffed out in little fogs until the car warmed up, which wasn’t long before they reached the Archer house.

A long, low, red brick ranch-style built on a generous lot at the top of a cul-de-sac, the home of Beau and Nicole Archer and their father had a welcoming air, despite overgrown shrubs, broken tree limbs and the wildly canted mailbox at the curb. Though an older home, it appeared to be a good place to raise a family and boasted a large, double-car garage that Marcus could easily covet.

He parked his late-model sedan behind an aging pickup truck.

“Thanks for everything,” Beau said, yanking open the passenger door and reaching toward the floorboard for his backpack.

“I don’t see Nicole’s car,” Marcus pointed out.

“She parks in the garage when it’s cold. Otherwise her old heap won’t start in the morning.”

That wasn’t surprising. “I’ll just walk you to the door,” Marcus said, “I’d like to speak to her.” In truth, he wanted to be sure she was all right.

The interior light of the car clearly illuminated Beau’s worried gaze. “I could have her call you.”

Marcus signaled his understanding with a smile. “I won’t antagonize your father, I promise, Beau, but I’m going to walk you to the door and be sure your sister arrived home safely. Okay?”

Beau muttered something under his breath and climbed out of the car. Marcus followed suit, and together they walked to the front of the house. A motion-sensitive light flicked on as they drew near the multi-paneled door, and almost at once it opened. Nicole stood there, framed in the open doorway.

Marcus couldn’t help smiling at her outlandish clothing. Something about her propensity to costume herself like this was rather endearing. The stripes going in every direction did make him want to cross his eyes, but at the same time for some reason his heart seemed to climb up into his throat and lodge there. He knew he should say something, but she smiled at him, and his mind went completely blank. The words that seemed to roll so easily off his tongue from the pulpit were simply nowhere to be found. It was perhaps the scariest moment of his life.

Nicole smiled at Marcus and reached out a hand to her brother, who attempted to slip past her into the house. Only then did her mind register what her eyes were telling her.

“Hey, where’d you get this coat?”

Marcus coughed, cleared his throat and rasped, “It’s an old one that I had in my closet.”

She looked at Beau. “Where’s your other coat?”

“In the hamper,” Beau mumbled, turning to Marcus. “Thanks for everything.”

“My pleasure.”

Beau escaped into the house, his backpack bumping Nicole and rocking her sideways. She looked to Marcus with her brows arched in question.

He cleared his throat and croaked, “Uh, if he doesn’t want it—the coat, that is—maybe you can give it to someone else. I never wear it.”

“All right. Are you feeling okay? You sound like you’re coming down with something.”

He seemed flushed to her, but he shook his head. “No, no. I’m fine. Just—” he swallowed “—something in my throat.”

“How’d it go with Beau?”

“Just fine.” He looked down, and she felt a spurt of unease, but then he looked up again, a smile crooking up one corner of his mouth. “I have one question, though. Do you have to work a second job to feed him?”

She laughed. “Sometimes. I hope he didn’t clean you out of groceries.”

“Impossible. I didn’t have anything in the house. We had pizza. And burgers.” He grinned. “Fries. Milk shakes. Cookies…”

She rolled her eyes. “What do I owe—”

“Don’t even say it,” Marcus warned, holding up a hand. “I was really glad of the company.”

A loud, slurred voice shouted from inside, “Shut that blasted door! You’re letting out all the heat!”

Nicole immediately stepped outside, pulling the door closed behind her. She folded her arms against the cold and said, “Thank you. And thank you for the coat. He likes it. I can tell.”

“Very fashionable for him,” Marcus quipped.

“Obviously. I—I just don’t want you to think that I routinely let him go to school without a proper coat. I have an early class on Fridays, so he rides with a friend. I can’t imagine why he didn’t take his coat. You know how kids are.”

“Too well. Speaking of coats. It’s too cold for you out here without one.”

“I’m okay. D-Did he say anything about, you know, Dad?”

“Yeah, but listen, we can’t talk standing out in the cold like this.” Marcus glanced around, then took her by the arm. “Come on. Let’s sit in the car.”

Nicole let him tug her toward his roomy sedan. “Good idea.”

He walked her swiftly around to the passenger side and handed her into the car’s interior. It was still warm from the drive over but rapidly cooling. Thankfully, after taking his seat behind the wheel, he started the engine and switched on the heater.

“There. That’s better.” For good measure, though, he lifted his scarf over his head and draped it around her shoulders, spreading it out like a shawl, a narrow one but surprisingly effective, warmed as it was from his body.

He started to shrug out of his coat, but she put a stop to that. “I’m quite comfortable now, thank you.”

“You sure?”

“Absolutely. So what did Beau say about Dad?”

“He said he was ‘sloppy hungover this morning,’” Marcus answered. “That’s why his other coat’s in the hamper.”

She grimaced, not even wanting to know what that meant. She’d find out soon enough anyway. Tossing one end of Marcus’s scarf across her throat, she inhaled. It smelled just as she’d imagined it would, just as she’d imagined he would.

“I thought he was just saying that so you wouldn’t know that he left it home on purpose. His old coat’s too small, and the other kids make fun of him because of it. You know how it is.”

“Yeah, well, the way things are these days, too small could actually mean that it fits, not that these kids would see it that way.”

She laughed. “True. I hate that we can’t afford new things for him, but the way he’s growing it’s all I can do to keep him covered.”

“There are worse things than not keeping up with fashion trends,” Marcus said.

“That’s the way I see it,” she agreed sincerely, but then he got this big grin on his face.

“What?”

“Oh, nothing. I’m just glad to see that you have your priorities straight.”

“Oh. Well, I’m glad you think so. Beau doesn’t always agree.”

“He’s thirteen. I think agreement is a biological impossibility at this point.”

She chuckled. “You’re telling me! He’s not a bad kid, though.”

“I can see that. I meant it when I said I enjoyed his company.”

“I’m sure he enjoyed your company, too, a lot more than he would have the Cutlers. They’re wonderful people, but to Beau anyone over thirty is the enemy right now.” Marcus winced, and she quickly reached out a hand. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean that literally. I just meant—”

“I know what you meant. Don’t worry about it. Guess I’m just feeling my age these days.”

“Well, it’s not like you’re arthritic or anything.” Now she winced. “Are you?”

He laughed. “Not that I’ve noticed.”

“Some young people are, you know. I mean, there’s a girl in one of my classes with juvenile arthritis. She’s stiff all the time, and you can, like, hear her joints popping when she moves.”

“No arthritic joints here,” he said merrily. “Not yet, anyway. Thank God.”

“I’d better go in before I wind up with the other foot in my mouth,” she muttered. And before her father took enough note of her absence to ask some awkward questions that she didn’t want to answer.

“Beau’s probably wondering what happened to you,” Marcus agreed softly.

Reluctantly she removed the scarf from around her neck and offered it to him, but he shook his head.

“No, you keep it for now. You can return it on Sunday. Right?”

Nicole draped the scarf around her shoulders and tossed one end across her throat, smiling. “Right. I won’t forget.”

“Okay. See you then.”

“See you then,” she confirmed, opening the door and quickly hopping out. “Thank you, Marcus,” she said just before she closed the door. “Bye.”

He waved and put the car into reverse, but he just sat there with his foot on the brake until she reached the house.

“See you Sunday,” Nicole whispered as she slipped inside.

It wouldn’t be wise to let her father find out what she was planning. He’d had a thing about church ever since her mom had fallen ill. But she knew that going was the right thing to do, if only because she’d promised Marcus. It wasn’t only that, though. Her mother would want them to go, her and Beau.

For too long Nicole had catered to her father’s anger on this subject. Somehow she’d allowed herself to fall into the trap of trying to appease him when she knew only too well that nothing could.

She hoped that Beau wouldn’t put up a fuss. He probably wouldn’t. She thought he’d go because he liked Marcus, but he was going even if she had to bully him. One way or another, Sunday morning was going to find them both sitting on a church pew again.

Her fingers slid over the soft wool draped about her shoulders. It took a moment for her to realize that the feeling growing inside her chest was hope.

It had always lived there. She couldn’t have kept on keeping on otherwise. Suddenly it seemed to be branching out, though, and in some surprising directions.

Smiling to herself, she fairly danced down the hall to her brother’s room.

Chapter Four

Nicole sat on the foot of her brother’s bed and waited for him to get off the computer. He ended the game he was playing and swiveled around on the seat of his chair, one arm on the desk, the other draped over the chair’s hardwood back.

“Where’s Dad?”

“Asleep in front of the TV, probably.”

“You mean he passed out in front of the TV,” Beau corrected.

She didn’t deny it, but she wasn’t here to discuss their father or his drinking problems. She had another matter entirely on her mind. “So what do you think of the pastor?”

Beau shrugged and said nonchalantly, “I like him.”

“Really? You’re not just saying that because you think I want you to?”

“Chillax. I said I like him.”

“So you wouldn’t mind spending time with him again?” Nicole probed carefully.

“I’ll kick it with the pastor whenever you want,” Beau said, turning his chair around to straddle it and fold his arms across the top of the back. “He’s easy to talk to, like one of the guys almost, not like he tries to be one of the guys, though.”

“I know what you mean,” Nicole said. “It’s like he’s really interested in you and what you have to say.”

Beau nodded. Then he asked, “Doesn’t it seem funny that he’s not married?”

Nicole’s heart gave a pronounced thump, but she kept her expression cool. She hadn’t even considered that he might be married. Why hadn’t she looked at his ring finger? Why hadn’t she asked Ovida Cutler?

“How do you know he’s not married?”

“He told me so.”

“Oh? What did he say?”

“Just that he hadn’t found the right woman yet.”

“So he’s looking, then?”

Beau screwed up his face, complaining, “I don’t know. What’re you asking me for?”

“No reason,” she answered nonchalantly. “It’s just that I promised him we’d try out his church this Sunday, and I wanted to know what you thought about him. That’s all.”

Dropping his chin, Beau sent her a pointed look. Clearly she wasn’t fooling him. He knew she was interested in Marcus. She rolled her eyes as if to say she wasn’t, and for some reason Beau chose to let it go. She wondered if that signaled approval or if it meant that he figured she had no chance of attracting Marcus’s interest for herself.

She cleared her throat. “Well? Do you want to go to church on Sunday or not?”

He thought about it before asking, “What about Dad?”

“The way I figure it,” Nicole said, “is that if he goes out on Saturday night, then he’ll be sleeping in on Sunday morning.”

“And he always goes out on Saturday night,” Beau said matter-of-factly.

They stared at each other for several long moments, neither saying aloud what they both knew. It would be better if their father didn’t realize they were attending church, at least initially. Maybe once he saw that it wouldn’t interfere with his lifestyle, he would be amenable. That had proven the case with the issue of Nicole attending college.

For some time before she’d graduated from high school, Dillard had grumbled that Nicole should put any plans to further her education on hold until Beau was old enough to take care of himself. Wisely, Nicole had said nothing, and when the time had come to enroll she had not sought Dillard’s permission. Instead she’d simply taken herself down to the university, signed up for classes and applied for every grant, scholarship and tuition aid she could find. She was halfway through the first semester before her father had realized that she was attending college and his life had not truly been impacted at all. Hopefully, it would be the same way when he found out that they were attending church.

On the other hand, it might turn out to be a one-time deal. Marcus Wheeler’s church might not be to their liking. They might not go back. That’s what she told herself anyway. In her heart, Nicole knew that regular attendance was definitely in her future. She missed going to church, but she hadn’t seen any point in risking her father’s wrath until now.

“You’d better try on your dress slacks,” she told Beau, rising to her feet. “You’ll probably have to wear one of Dad’s shirts.”

Beau nodded, shrugged and turned back to the computer, muttering, “Guess you’ll be going through your boxes.”

“Oh, yeah,” she admitted. This occasion definitely called for something special.

She headed for the garage and the half-dozen boxes that contained everything that was left over from her mother’s and grandmother’s closets. Nicole loved digging through them and wearing the clothes. Not only did it play to her personal tastes, it also saved her a lot of money on her wardrobe. Plus, it made her feel closer to those whom she missed most.

Luckily, retro was “in” right now, not that Nicole cared a fig for being in style. Some of the old stuff in those boxes was worth a good deal in resale shops, though. Once in a while, when money was especially tight, she’d pick out a piece to sell. Usually it was one of her grandmother’s old handbags. Grandma Jean had claimed to have a handbag fetish. She’d accumulated dozens by the time she’d forgotten what the word fetish meant, along with so much else, including the family.

Dillard claimed that Jean was lucky because she couldn’t remember the pain of losing her daughter and husband. Nicole didn’t buy that philosophy, though. She was glad to remember. Every memory was a treasure to her, and she hung on to the memories much as she hung on to those boxes of old clothes.

It was too cold to go through her boxes in the garage, so Nicole towed them into her bedroom, one by one. A couple of them were actually made for garments, with poles for hangers. The rest were neatly stacked with smaller items. She knew exactly what each box held, but at times like this she would pull out every article and spread them around her colorful room, arranged by category. Once the contents of the boxes were properly displayed, Nicole would spend hours choosing what she would wear before lovingly packing it all away again.

On this occasion, she pulled everything out, then went to bed beneath an extra blanket of garments, leaving the decision-making process for the morrow. She wanted to relish this turn that her life seemed to be taking. Even if the ultimate destination was not what she hoped, she intended to enjoy the journey.

Marcus couldn’t contain his pleasure when he looked out across his congregation on Sunday morning at the smiling faces of Nicole and Beau Archer. There were other visitors, as well, of course. The place was packed, in fact, as it often was of late. Even the tiny balcony section, reached via a narrow, winding staircase hidden in the back hall, was stuffed with bodies.

Marcus recognized several families whose children attended day care at the church and was glad that preparations were underway for adding a second morning service in the spring, even though it would mean more work for him. Meanwhile, all those involved in the actual production and execution of worship were busily planning what that second service would involve. At times, like this morning, the excitement was palpable as the church poised itself for that next big step forward.

As he moved into the pulpit, Marcus felt lifted up, his words imbued with a special power. Though he considered himself more of a thoughtful teacher than a spellbinding preacher, he seemed linked to his audience in an unusual manner that morning. It was as if he shared a special connection with every person present, and when all was said and done, the church had added three new families, numbering ten souls in all, to the membership roll. Through every moment, he was aware of the Archers.

Even as he stood at the vestibule door, shaking hands and sharing smiles and comments with the exiting throng, Marcus was keenly aware of Beau and Nicole Archer near the back of the line. Beau seemed somewhat hesitant when Marcus paused to speak with him, but Marcus assumed that it had to do with his painfully awkward appearance.

Beau looked like a poster boy for the underprivileged, dressed as he was in a faded black tie and a white shirt which was considerably too large for him. The cuffs of his shirt sleeves had been rolled back several times to keep them from hanging over the boy’s hands, and the collar was in no danger of choking him, despite the tightly knotted tie. To make matters worse, his charcoal-gray dress slacks were a little too short, showing a bit of white sock above worn black shoes. In addition, his shaggy brown hair slid haphazardly in several directions at once, despite having obviously been parted and wet-combed earlier. He held the coat Marcus had given him, clutched in both arms, like a security blanket.

Marcus knew he had to do something. He called over a couple of youngsters around Beau’s age and introduced them. As the trio stepped aside to talk stiltedly among themselves, Marcus at last turned his attention to Nicole.

While Beau’s attire branded him as a poor kid barely surviving in a harsh world, Nicole managed to look amazingly pretty in her odd getup. Considering the last two times he’d seen her, this outfit was fairly subdued, which was not to say conventional.

Her dark hair fell sleekly past her shoulders from beneath a yellow crocheted cap pulled almost to her delicately arched brows. The crochet was repeated in the ankle-length, purple vest that she wore over a slender, black, short-sleeved sheath, yellow stockings and knee-high, white vinyl boots. She clutched her red gloves in one hand and carried a familiar striped scarf folded over one arm with what appeared to be a royal-blue cape, though it could have been a voluminous coat arranged so that the sleeves were hidden.

Marcus couldn’t help laughing. Not because she looked ridiculous—she didn’t, oddly enough—but because something about her just inspired that reaction. It was as if the sun came out from behind drab clouds when Nicole appeared, as if color suddenly washed a black-and-white world with sparkling, breathtaking hues. Yet, no one could deny that she was a quirky character. Marcus saw the way that others looked at her, the smiles hidden behind coughs and throat clearings, the surreptitious glances and whispered comments. She seemed happily oblivious.

“That was great!” she gushed, rocking up onto her tiptoes as she held his hand. “Inspiring. Honestly!”

“Glad you enjoyed it. I’m delighted to see you and Beau here this morning.”

“We’ll be back,” she announced, beaming.

“Wonderful. If you have a few minutes now, though, I’d like a word with you when I’m done here.” A shadow passed across her eyes, dimming them momentarily. “Won’t take long, I promise,” he added quickly, then glanced pointedly over his shoulder at Beau.

“Oh, um, okay. Sure.”

He directed her to a bench against one wall of the vestibule and made quick work of the few remaining farewells before joining her.

“As I said, I’m really glad to see you and Beau here this morning, Nicole,” he told her. “I’m even happier that you plan to return, and I’d like to help Beau fit in, if I can.”

“I’m sure once he gets to know people…” she began.

“Oh, absolutely,” Marcus agreed. “If I could make one suggestion, though?”

Her slender brows drew together, and her voice carried a wary note despite her polite reply. “Of course.”

“Let him lose the tie, or at least wear it loose and drooping.” He touched his own neat Windsor knot and chuckled. “That’s how our minister of youth wears his. Very cool, I’m told.”

She made a face and relaxed. “I guess we were both thinking about the last time we attended church.” Dropping her head she admitted, “It’s been a long time, you know. Beau was just ten, and what was considered appropriate for a boy that age back then and what’s considered okay now…” She waved a hand.

Marcus chuckled. “Yeah, I know. Some of the older folks complain when they see these kids with baggy pants and the shirttails out and hanging down to their knees, but I figure that this is their church, too, and they should be comfortable. That they’re here is much more important to me than how they’re dressed.”

“I see what you mean.”

“We do have standards,” he went on. “We draw the line at T-shirts with slogans other than Christian ones and head coverings indoors for the boys. We don’t even allow the girls to wear those backward caps that are so popular. Those so-called ‘belly shirts’ are absolutely forbidden, too, and we quietly monitor the length of skirts and, in the summertime, shorts. Otherwise, we pretty much try to go with the flow.”

“Okay. I’ll remember that,” Nicole said. “I mean, it’s bad enough that everything he owns is practically worn out. No reason he should stick out like a sore thumb, too.”

Marcus bowed his head, fingering his chin, and said uncertainly, “Nicole, I could…that is, I’d be glad to—how should I put this?—front you some money on Beau’s behalf.”

She was on her feet and shaking her head before he got the words out. “Uh-uh. No way. Treating him to dinner is one thing, but buying clothes is something else.”

“Think of it as a loan,” he urged, but she was even more adamant in her refusal of that.

“Absolutely not. I couldn’t pay it back, not for a long, long time, anyway.” She folded her arms. “We’ve held out this long. We can hold out until I’ve paid next semester’s tuition. After that we can start taking care of some of this other stuff.”

He wanted to argue. It tore at Marcus’s heart to see Beau going around so bedraggled because Marcus so vividly remembered being that boy. But he remembered, too, the pride that had gotten him through the worst of it, and well-deserved pride was better than new clothes. He wasn’t thinking of the sort of pride that Scripture warned caused downfall but rather the pride that came from doing the difficult thing for the right reasons. Funny that Nicole should be the one to remind him of that.

“You’re right,” he said, rising to his feet. “Forget I mentioned it.”

“That’s okay.” She smiled. “It just shows you care.”

“Yes,” he agreed unthinkingly. “Exactly. I do care.”

“Thank you for that,” she said, and then to his shock, she flung her arms around him in a hug.

For a moment Marcus froze, his arms trapped between them. Heat flashed through him, exploding into red blossoms on his cheeks. To his horror he realized that several of the kids were standing in the open doorway looking in at them, Beau in their midst, with none other than David Calloway in the background.

Конец ознакомительного фрагмента.

Текст предоставлен ООО «ЛитРес».

Прочитайте эту книгу целиком, купив полную легальную версию на ЛитРес.

Безопасно оплатить книгу можно банковской картой Visa, MasterCard, Maestro, со счета мобильного телефона, с платежного терминала, в салоне МТС или Связной, через PayPal, WebMoney, Яндекс.Деньги, QIWI Кошелек, бонусными картами или другим удобным Вам способом.